“The third and final reason I have sent you this message will become apparent soon enough. By now, your ship’s internal comms have been off-line for close to half a minute, and all compartments except your quarters have been flooded with neurocine gas.”

Kutal tensed and shot a look at BelHoQ. “Get my scanner from the second drawer.”

The first officer retrieved the scanner from Kutal’s desk and activated it as Brakk’s recording continued. “I have spared your life this long only because I wanted to thank you personally for helping me murder your valiant crew. The data card I sent was loaded with a computer virus. Normally, your ship’s data network would have scanned for such a threat and intercepted it, but by generously providing your voiceprint and command code, you’ve enabled my program to bypass your ship’s filters and take control of the intruder-control systems.”

BelHoQ showed Kutal the scanner’s readout; it confirmed Brakk’s message. “We might be able to reach the nearest escape pod before the gas takes us,” he said. Kutal got up, hurried to his lavatory, soaked two cloths with water, and tossed one to BelHoQ on their way to the door.

“Good-bye, Captain,” Brakk said from the computer terminal. “I doubt you’ll earn a place in Sto-Vo-Kor for blundering into a trap, so I’ll look forward to our next meeting in Gre’thor. Brakk out.” The message ended, and the screen went black.

A subtle hiss from the overhead ventilation ducts gave warning that Kutal’s quarters were being flooded with the deadly toxic gas. He unlocked the door, which hissed open. Though the air outside his quarters looked no different than that inside, an excruciating stinging assaulted his eyes, which watered instantly even as he squeezed them shut. Kutal and BelHoQ stumbled out into the corridor, holding their breath, mouths and noses covered by the damp rags. Squinting through the pain, they felt their way down the passage and stepped over the corpses littering the deck. Every bit of exposed flesh on Kutal’s face and arms felt as if it were on fire as he and BelHoQ staggered the last few steps toward the escape pod.

His hand was poised over the control pad to open the pod’s hatch when, out of the corner of his bloodied eye, he noted the blurred profile of a figure standing in the middle of the corridor. When he turned his head to look, he saw a Klingon in an environmental suit, pointing a disruptor at him. Then came a deafening screech and a blinding flash—and, with them, an end to his pain.

If not for his intense aversion to risk and his innate loathing for embarrassment, Brakk might have considered his victory over Captain Kutal and the crew of the Zin’za an empty one. But a win was a win, and all that really mattered was that Kutal was dead and Brakk was not, and that all the vital secrets Kutal had possessed about the Taurus Reach would soon belong to Brakk.

Gorkon was a fool to think he could saddle me with such obvious traitors, Brakk gloated. Now the House of Duras will know what’s so important about the Gonmog Sector—and then we’ll finally be able to get those Romulan petaQpu’ to back our rise to power over the Empire.

Brakk presided over the bridge of the Qu’vang from his elevated command chair, his attention fixed upon the main view-screen’s image of the Zin’za adrift in space. He was about to call for a status update when his first officer, Nuqdek, appeared. “We’ve bypassed the lockouts on the Zin’za’s protected computer core,” he said. “Its contents are being copied to our databanks now. We will have everything momentarily.”

“Well done, Commander. Have all our people returned from the Zin’za?”

“Yes, sir.” Nuqdek seemed troubled. “We’ve intercepted several subspace messages from Captain Chang on the baS’jev. He’s trying to reach Captain Kutal.”

“What of it? Let him enjoy the silence.”

A crewman at an aft station on the bridge called out, “Commander?” When he had Nuqdek’s attention, he gave the first officer a single nod. Nuqdek returned the gesture, then said to Brakk, “The databanks have been copied over, Captain. Do you wish to put a tractor beam on the Zin’za for its return to Somraw?”

“That hunk of excrement isn’t going anywhere,” Brakk said.

Nuqdek warily studied the battle cruiser on the viewscreen. “How, then, are we to explain its disappearance?”

Brakk looked down at his first officer. Some days I just don’t understand this man. “Why should we explain anything, Commander? Space is dangerous. Ships vanish all the time, even imperial warships. Why think the Zin’za immune to such a fate?”

“You mean to destroy it, then.”

“Of course,” Brakk boasted. “I armed its self-destruct system ten minutes ago. After I trigger it, nothing will remain of that overhyped rust pile except dust and memories.”

The first officer’s discomfort with that news was obvious to Brakk, despite Nuqdek’s effort to mask his unease. “Permission to speak, Captain?”

“What is it?”

“I suggest we salvage useful material and munitions from the Zin’za before you trigger its self-destruct package. Destroying the ship is obviously necessary for operational security, but it seems wrong to waste parts and torpedoes that could be made to serve this vessel.”

He waved away Nuqdek’s request. “Absolutely not. The last thing we need is for some overzealous junior officer at Somraw Station to notice that our weapons bay is stocked with torpedoes from a lot that was used to supply the Zin’za.” He directed his orders to the bridge officers surrounding him and Nuqdek. “Terminate all data channels to that ship! Helm, reverse thrusters, put us two hundred thousand qelIqams aft of the Zin’za. Tactical, raise shields.” With an oblique glance at Nuqdek, he asked, “Any last words for the fallen?”

For once, Nuqdek was wise enough to hold his tongue. He faced the viewscreen and lifted his chin, a final gesture of respect for the dishonored dead.

The helmsman reported, “We’re in position, Captain.”

Without ceremony or pity, Brakk pressed a button on his chair’s armrest, triggering the Zin’za’s self-destruct package. The battle cruiser erupted in an orange-white fireball that quickly spawned several more explosions, washing out the viewscreen for several seconds.

It was the most beautiful vision of destruction Brakk had ever seen. He couldn’t help but beam with satisfaction. Wherever you are, Gorkon . . . you’re next.

Confronted with the latest news from Captain Chang, Gorkon felt as if an oppressive weight had fallen upon his shoulders. “Are you certain the Zin’za’s been destroyed?”

“As certain as I can be, my lord.” His fury was palpable, even over a subspace channel. “Brakk claims he sent Captain Kutal and his ship on a routine patrol from which they never returned. Meanwhile, his ship’s newest combat escort just happens to be the Valkaya—a Romulan bird-of-prey whose captain volunteered its service to Brakk.”

“When was the last time you heard from Kutal?”

“Four days ago. He’s missed his last three check-ins. Which would suggest his ship was destroyed while mine was on its own pointless recon mission, as ordered by Brakk.” His mien took on a cast of suspicion. “Why would Brakk have risked so bold an attack on other Klingons? What could have made that worth the potential consequences?”

“Most likely, the information in the Zin’za’s databanks.” Gorkon entered commands via the interface panel beside the screen. “I’m elevating your security clearance so that I can tell you this. What you’re about to hear is classified at the highest levels.”

“Understood, my lord.”

“The Empire’s interest in the Gonmog Sector is driven by more than a desire for territory and resources. Five years ago, a Starfleet vessel, the Constellation, made a discovery that motivated the Federation to build a major starbase far beyond their own borders. It became clear that there was something there that they considered vital to their interests. We soon learned it was related to an extinct precursor civilization, one that had left technology on worlds throughout the sector and complex information concealed inside genetic sequences.